


Friends, In Retrospect

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, HP: EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: After five years abroad, Agent Hermione Granger returns to stop a Muggle faction from terrorizing Wizarding London. As she reconnects with ex-colleagues, old friends, and former loves, she inspires them to look into their shared pasts to find the truth in the saying, that, 'the more things change, the more they stay the same.' Post-Hogwarts. EWE.





	1. Coming and Going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

When he saw her again, he felt something inside him click.  It always happened like this after a prolonged separation from either of his best friends.  After long summer months in the muggle world, and after Christmas and Easter holidays they spent apart.  After one of them would inevitably wind up in the hospital wing unconscious.  And especially after Ron returned to them in the Forest of Dean.

He was nervous about seeing her again.  Ron, who was now sitting by his side, had basically admitted the same thing just last night over a pint at the Leaky Cauldron.

Five years is a long time, after all, to be away.  The places she had gone, the people she met, the things she experienced – well, they were bound to shape her in a way that would have been different had she stayed.  He was afraid that the new grooves and outcroppings of her soul would no longer fit perfectly in the puzzle of their lives here in London.  

He met her eyes as she entered the room; and she solidly gazed back at him and Ron; and her soul clicked with theirs.  He almost audibly sighed in relief.

Almost.  He held himself in check, as Hermione was currently standing at the head of the conference room at the Ministry of Magic.  Minister Shacklebolt had just introduced her to the rest of the attendees as the head of the terrorist task force.  She looked around the room, which was filled with mostly men, mostly middle-aged, and mostly looking back at her with apprehension.  Harry smiled to himself as he saw her will more steel in her gaze, as well as her spine.

“Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt, and good morning to all of you,” she said confidently.  Fourteen pairs of eyes focused on her.  Harry knew most of the people in the conference room – representatives from various divisions of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and the Muggle Liaison Office.

“I would like to introduce my team; we’ll be setting up a temporary office in the DMLE, as this case in ongoing.”  She directed a nod to the man standing at her right side.  “This is Agent Bennett Haydon, my second for this task force.  Please direct all your communications to him if I am in the field or otherwise unavailable.”

She gestured to the imposing woman and stony-faced man on her left.  “Agent Maria Velazquez, our muggle tech specialist.  She’ll be working closely with the MLO and the Investigation Department to oversee surveillance on the muggle side.  And this is Agent Simon Flynn, he’ll be the point person with the MLEP to coordinate our boots on the ground.

For the past year, my team has been tracking the movements of the terrorist group that calls itself Prometheus, which has been staging attacks on magical communities and places heavily trafficked by Wizardkind.  Due to the nature of attacks, we believe that this is a joint effort by Dark Wizards and knowledgeable Muggles with anti-wizard agenda in order to destabilize communities, even entire countries.  There’s been a spike of recruitment activity on the dark web following an attack on the French magical community La Rue Charme a month ago, for which Prometheus has claimed responsibility,” she continued, as she indicated to the map on the projector screen behind her.  “Our intel has indicated that the group’s next target is London.”

~xx~XX~xx~

When the meeting with the task force ended, and assignments and logistics were managed, Hermione was swept out of the conference room by a flurry of activity.  Private meetings with the Minister of Magic, and then with the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot had taken up her lunchtime and early afternoon hours.  She was then caught up – Harry assumed – with installing her IWP team into the vacant offices and conference room on the far side of the DMLE. 

Harry had left his door open in the hopes that he could glimpse her walking through the department.  But after the seventh interruption from pedantic ministry officials who thought an open door meant open visiting hours, Harry was forced to close the door to his office so that he could get his paperwork done.

By seven o’clock, he still sat behind his desk, finishing up his last report when he heard a knock on the door.  Ron, most likely, as they usually ended up going to the pub around this time whenever they both had to stay late at the office.

“Come in,” he said, without looking up from the parchment on his desk.  He heard the door open, and then quickly click close.

“Head Auror Potter.”

He glanced up at the door at the same moment that he stood, the back of his knees making his chair squeak in protest at the sudden movement.  There she was, in her practical slate grey oxford and her functional charcoal pencil skirt.  An easy smile was settled on her face, which was framed by a halo of dark caramel curls.  She looked the same as the last time he saw her five years ago – simple, comfortable, and still so very-Hermione – that the familiarity of her presence made the smile on his face grow impossibly wide at the sight of her. 

“Agent Granger,” he said, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in his throat as he greeted her.  He made his way around his desk to where she stood, his Auror-trained brain noting that she only took one step into his office, and that she was holding her left hand behind her back, one of the few nervous ticks that she never could fully purge.

No matter.  In four long steps, he had reached her, and she was throwing both her arms around his shoulders as his wrapped around her waist.  He bent his head down to where the rebellious curls had escaped her no-nonsense bun, and he was greeted with the crisp apple smell of her favorite shampoo.

A memory flashed in his mind’s eye, of the tent in the middle of the woods, and her complaint that their canvass abode smelled too much like teenage boy.  He and Ron promised, at the time, to be more mindful of cleanliness and personal hygiene, and to sometimes air the tent out.  He didn’t fully understand her grievance, though, as the scent of sharp green apples cut through whatever musk he and Ron must have been giving off, and he really hadn’t minded that.

The memory of their temporary home, and the sudden feel of her in his arms, stirred something in his chest.  He suddenly felt the weight of each day of her absence all at once.

“Oh Merlin, I missed you,” he said into her hair.

He felt her chuckle vibrate through his chest.  She was rubbing a hand on his upper back, as she usually did whenever he was treated to one of her full-body hugs.  “It’s good to see you, too, Harry.”

His body fought between the urge to crush her further into him – like a man who, upon his first sip of cool water, realized just how thirsty he really was – and the need to pull back so that he could get his fill of looking at her face.

Before he could decide, his door flew open once again, and his other best friend almost barreled into them.  Ron must have also been keeping watch for her and saw her enter his office only minutes before.

His blue eyes twinkled as he surveyed his friends in front of him.  “Hey now,” he said jovially.  “Do you have one of those for me?”

They each opened an arm out to him, and for the first time in a long while, they were whole.

~xx~XX~xx~

_Ron pulled back from their three-person huddle, and he looked at Hermione with concern._

_“What if we get married instead?  Have seven charming, ginger kids, another rotten kneazle, white picket fence?  Would that be enough to get you stay?” he asked._

_Hermione answered with a wry smile.  “Tempting, truly.  But then I would have to unpack all my things, and it just feels like too much work, at this point.”_

_She, Ron, and Harry had just come back from the Leaky Cauldron, where they shared a last round of Butterbeer – followed by several shots of Firewhiskey – before she left for Madrid in the morning.  Now they were sitting on the bare floor of her living room, passing around their second bottle of Firewhiskey of the night._

_“What if I tell er-won,” said Harry, with a bit of effort, “that you were the one who really killed Voldemort?  You’re the grill-who-lived.  Then_ you’ll _be the national treasure, and you won’t be able to leave the country at all!  No one will let you go!”_

_“That’s a great plan, Harry,” she said.  “Except there were witnesses to Voldemort’s demise.  How are you going to get them all to correlate your story?”_

_Harry shot her what he intended to be a sultry look, but her reaction – a loud guffaw! – hinted that he might have missed his mark._

_“All right, then, Agent Swot, if you still insist on leaving, we have condursh—cond—conditions,” he said._

_“Yeah!” said Ron, pointing his index finger in her face.  She swatted his hand away before the wayward finger poked her eye._

_“Number one!” Harry yelled for no apparent reason.  “_ We _are your best friends.  Doesn’t matter who you meet as you gallivant around the world, all secret agent-like.  Doesn’t matter if you meet ol’ double-oh-seven himself, no one will ever take our place as your besht friends.”_

_“Yeah!” Ron cheered him on with gusto, despite now lying down on the floor with his eyes closed.  Harry wasn’t sure if Ron actually knew who James Bond was, but he appreciated the support, nonetheless._

_Hermione rolled her eyes, but her smile belied her outward annoyance._

_“Number two!” said Harry, holding up two fingers.  “Whenever Ron or I say something funny…which will be often (“Yeah!” Ron interjected from his spot the floor)…we reserve the right to owl you the hilarious quip, which you will then_ promptly _respond with something about how clever we are, and how dull your life has become without us around.”_

_“Sounds reasonable,” said Hermione, solemnly.  “It’s probably not going to take up too much of my time, anyway.”_

_“Good!”  said Harry, obliviously.  “Number…number?”_

_“Four,” said Ron, helpfully._

_“Number four!  You have to see us on all holidays, birthdays, and major life events.  And minor ones, too, like, if one of us decides to get a tattoo.”_

_“That, I can’t quite promise, you know,” she said.  “The training itself is going to take two years, and it will be in various places around the world.  I’m not even sure where the first training grounds are.  Madrid is just a meeting point before they whisk us off for the first module.  And, I’m afraid, I probably won’t be allowed any visitors, on account of the whole secret-location thing.”_

_“Fine.  On the occasion that you’re unable to see us for a holiday, birthday, or life event, then you will shimp-simply owe us a make-up activity of our own choosing the following time we see you.”_

_Hermione groaned.  “You’re going to make me fly, aren’t you?”_

_“Whatever motivates you to come home, Hermione,” said Ron, grinning like the Cheshire Cat._

_“Well?” said Harry, with a pout.  “Are you going to agree to our terms?  Or am I to owl Draco to air out a cell in the Malfoy Manor dungeons for you so we can keep you with us forever?”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading!  
> If you liked this, please check out my other stories: "Shallow Draco," "WIngman," and "Mrs. Azkaban."
> 
> I'd appreciate your reviews!


	2. Twidditch and Toddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

“No,” said Hermione, her eyes narrowed at the tall, red-haired man in front of her.  “An absolute and resounding, ‘no.’”

The man stood his ground in front of her, a Quaffle in one hand, and a bit of yellowed parchment in the other. 

“Can’t back out of this, Hermione,” he said.  “This is just the first one.  Plenty more where this came from.”  He waved the piece of paper in front of her face, goading her.

“Ron, I don’t know what you think I’ve been doing for the past five years, but it wasn’t playing Quidditch,” she said venomously.  “Am I just supposed to hop on this broom and fly about with you lot – six people who have played on some sort of league since childhood, and one person who actually plays _professionally_ – and expect to hold my own?”

“No, but you’ve watched us play plenty of times,” said Harry.  He was standing a safe distance behind Ron, looking like he was trying to keep the mirth off his face at her sudden agitation.  “Smart girl like you, I’m sure you’ve picked up the rules of the game by now.  You know how it works.”

“I also know how a piano works, Harry, but it doesn’t automatically make me Chopin,” Hermione said impatiently.

“Pish-posh, Hermione, you’ll be splendid,” George said, putting a casual arm around her shoulders.  “At any rate, you can’t be any worse than Percy.”

Percy was standing at the edge of their huddle; he puffed up his chest at a show of outrage, before quickly deflating.  He looked back at Hermione with a sheepish smile and an acquiescing shrug.

Hermione turned to her left.  “You.  Are you going to just stand there and let them bully me into this ridiculous ploy?”

Draco put his hands up in mock surrender.  “Keep me out of this, Granger.  Last time I took a side between you and a Weasley, I got a bat-bogey hex for my troubles.”

Hermione rolled her eyes heavenward, and blew a long, exasperated sigh.  She snatched the broom from George’s hand and arched an eyebrow at Ron.

“What position do you want me to play, then?” she said, with a sweet smile that, Draco knew, was just on the wrong side of dangerous.  “Beater?”

Ten minutes later, everyone was mounted on brooms, zooming around the backyard pitch behind the Burrow.  Hermione was put in as a Chaser with Draco; Charlie and George took positions as Seeker and Beater, respectively.  Percy was hovering a bit unsteadily near the goal posts behind them.  They faced off against Bill, who was Beater, and Harry and Ron, naturally, as Seeker and Keeper.  Ginny, a professional Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, counted as two players; at least, that was George’s argument when they were determining teams.

Draco had initially thought that he would have to fly alongside Hermione, both to give explicit instructions during the game, as well as keep a close watch in case she becomes too skittish in the air.  Her fear of flying, after all, was well-known in their social circle. 

But after a few minutes on a broom, he was surprised – and a little more than impressed – at her skills.  She was proficient, though not particularly great.  Ginny certainly flew circles around her, as was expected.  But she caught the Quaffle whenever he threw it at her, and she was steady and quick on her broom as the two of them flew toward the goal posts.

As a bit of time passed, he could tell that Hermione was becoming more comfortable with Quidditch.  Forty minutes into the game, with their team trailing behind by twenty points, Draco held the Quaffle tucked under his left arm as he flew to the opposing team’s goal posts.  He saw George’s mischievous grin one second before he noticed the Bludger hurtling toward his chest.

Draco threw the Quaffle to his left, where he spied Hermione at the corner of his eye, before quickly maneuvering out of the Bludger’s way. 

As he righted his broom, he saw Ron smile indulgently at Hermione’s direct approach toward the goal posts.  Draco was about to fly to her to assist, when she suddenly took a sharp dive under Ron’s broom, only to fly up and over Ron’s head in a tight corkscrew. 

She was still flying upside down on her broom as she tossed the Quaffle through the hoop behind the dumbfounded Keeper.

~xx~XX~xx~

_“For someone always so rigid, you are quite unpredictable, Granger,” he said, marveling at the witch sitting comfortably in front of him across the table.  He leaned over her books and gave her an inquisitive look.  “Have you been doing this the whole time?”_

_“What are you on about now, Malfoy?” she asked as she took her silver flask out of his hand.  He had just been smelling it to make sure it was whiskey, as she had told him, and not, as a part of him suspected, Polyjuice potion._

_“In all these years you’ve been sequestered here instead of up in your crimson-and-gold tower, have you just been…” he trailed off as he made a drinking gesture with his left hand._

_“Of course not,” she said.  “In the past.  But I am an adult witch now, living in a castle that was a decimated pile of rocks only a few month ago, after spending almost a year camping about in the wilderness with two unkempt, teenaged boys.  I learned to take my luxuries when I can get them.”_

_“But in the_ library _?” he mock-whispered, only half-joking._

_She shot him an irritated look.  “Oh, do stop clutching your pearls.”_

_Draco took the flask from her once more, this time taking a healthy swig before replacing the cap and putting it in the pocket of his own robes.  He stood up and twitched his head in the direction of the exit._

_“Come on, Granger, before you further infect me with your bad habits.”_

_“Where are we going?”_

_“I find it insulting to my sensibilities that downing cheap swill from a metal flagon in a dusty corner of a library is your definition of_ luxury _,” he sneered.  “If you want to experience the best that life has to offer, then I should probably show you how to do it right, before you become too entrenched in your gauche ways.”_

_He stalked off toward the double doors and waited there as she gathered her books._

_They spent the rest of the night at the eighth years’ common room, sharing a box of bonbons from Paris and a bottle of Cote de Nuits wine._

~xx~XX~xx~

Lunch had started late due to the pick-up Quidditch game, which his team had astoundingly won, thanks to Charlie’s quick flying.  Although Harry was usually the faster flyer, he was off his game this morning, and Charlie flew head and shoulders ahead of him to catch the Snitch.

Draco sat on a tartan blanket on the tall grass at the Weasleys’ garden.  Everyone else had a similar idea, lounging on the settee or the low steps of the porch or the odd chaise scattered around the yard, exhausted from the game and drowsy from overstuffing themselves with Molly’s delicious cooking.

He kept his eyes on the bright-haired toddler exploring the flowers, ready to jump to action in case the child decided to find out if the plants tasted as good as they looked.  Andromeda had dropped his son off at the Burrow just a few minutes before, after a long playdate with his cousin Teddy.

Draco felt Hermione approach and sit down next to him on the blanket.

“Ready to meet your godson?” he asked her.

She smiled, almost shyly, as she eyed the young child, whose fine, white-blond hair was tousled on his head, giving him an angelic halo when the low afternoon sun shone behind him.  Draco knew better than to believe his eyes, of course; his son had inherited his penchant for mischief.

“Scorp, come here,” he said, and added, after a moment’s pause, “please.”

The toddler ambled toward them, and Draco put him on his lap to face Hermione.

“Scorpius, this is your Aunt Hermione,” Draco said.

Scorpius’s face lit up.  “Mamayanee!”

“Let’s try that again, Scorp.  Her-my-oh-nee.”

“Muh-my-uh-nee,” Scorpius said slowly and confidently.

Draco’s mouth twisted into a smirk as Hermione shot him an amused look.  “We’ll work on it,” he assured her.

Hermione held out her arms, and the suspiciously well-behaved toddler went to her without complaint.

“Hello, Scorpius.  What did you do at your cousin Teddy’s house today?”  she asked.

“We pwayed!” he replied enthusiastically.

“What did you play?”

“Twidditch!”

Hermione arched an eyebrow at Draco.

“Never too early to foster a love for the game,” said Draco.  At her pointed look, he rolled his eyes and continued, “Relax, Granger, they’re just toy brooms that don’t even lift off the ground.  And the balls, including the Snitch, are all the size of melons, so there’s no chance of choking on small parts.  The two of them just toss the balls back and forth.”

Scorpius started wriggling in her arms, already distracted by a butterfly near the rosebush a few steps away.  She let him go and turned to her friend.

“He’s even more beautiful than in his pictures, Draco,” she said.

Draco pretended to preen.  “Of course, everyone says he takes after me.”

She chuckled and dug an elbow into his ribs.  “Well, here’s to hoping he only inherits the looks and not the giant ego.”

“Too late, Granger.  Just last night, I caught him kissing his reflection in the hallway mirror.”

Hermione shook her head and murmured, “Trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble,” he said abruptly, giving his friend a peeved look.  “Your team, Granger.  Your people are a menace to my department.”

“How so?”

“They’re…messing up my filing system,” he said tragically.  She only laughed.  “They asked for access to Investigation’s case files dating back three years, and when I returned to the file room at the end of the day, they had put back the files in alphabetical order, rather than by date!  It’s going to take my Aurors days to go through and re-file everything.”

“I’m sorry about that,” she said.  “I’ll talk to Velazquez, and I’ll put a couple of people on my team on it tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he grudgingly obliged.

“Still having fun at the Investigation Department?”

“More fun than sitting at the cubicles hoping to get lucky enough to be assigned an interesting case,” he said.  “Even during a relative lull, I can at least keep myself occupied with cold case files backed up at the ID.”

“That’s right, I heard you recently closed the Whitney file,” she said, sounding impressed.  “Remember during our second year at training?  Well, my second year, your third.  Jacobson ran around the ID pulling his air out of frustration for about a year trying to solve that case.  I’m proud of you for figuring things out and giving his family some closure.”

“Thank you,” he said, a bit of warmth flooding his cheeks.  “Yes, of course, I remember that year.  That was the time I rotated at the ID.  Who do you think Jacobson yelled at whenever he got too overwhelmed with that case?  That’s probably why I was extra motivated to solve it a few months ago, as a way to stick it to that old bastard.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed.

“How about you?  Still enjoy being part of the machine that is the International Wizarding Police?  Getting sick yet of all the traveling to exotic locales, meeting handsome men with alluring foreign accents, and the general arse-kicking that you get to do daily?” he said. 

Draco belatedly snuck a peek at his son to make sure he hadn’t picked up on the bad words that have been slipped into the conversation.  Scorpius looked too busy pulling petals off any flowers in his reach to be paying attention to the adults.  Draco pulled his son away from the bushes before Molly could catch him in the act of carnage. 

Hermione transfigured a demolished flower into a large toy butterfly, which Scorpius promptly started chasing around the garden.

“If only my job was as glamorous as you make it sound,” she said, with a sigh.  “I do get to go to these ‘exotic locales,’ but lately, I’ve been stuck directing missions from an office.  When I get a chance to go in the field, it’s not exactly five-star accommodations.  And I’m not really known at work as ‘Deadly Arse-kicker’ but more ‘Professional Nagger’ and ‘She Who Goes to Meetings.’”

“And what about the handsome, alluring, exotic men?” he asked, smirking at her.

She turned her face away from his analyzing gaze, but the rosy blush on her cheeks betrayed her.

~xx~XX~xx~

He heard a quick rap on the door, but his visitor did not wait for an invitation before walking into his office.

“Hey, Draco, are you busy?” asked Harry, plopping down on the cushioned chair in front of the desk.

“Not at all, Harry,” Draco said dryly, not looking up from the report he was writing.  “Let me just finish writing this down.  ‘Dear Diary, it finally happened!  Harry Potter’s come to ask me out to lunch!’”

Draco narrowly avoided a ball of parchment as it sailed past his head.

“Wanker,” Harry muttered.

“What do you want, Harry?”

“Actually,” Harry said sheepishly.  “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go for lunch.”

Draco snickered.

“Hermione and I are going to that delicatessen across the street.  Join us?  I was thinking of roping her into helping us finalize plans for our party,” said Harry.

Draco grunted.  “ _Please_ don’t call it _our_ party.  It’s _my son’s_ birthday soiree, which _you’re hijacking_ because you happen to share the same birthday, and you’re too damned lazy to throw your own party.”

“First of all, Draco, your son is turning _three_.  I don’t think you should throw him a soiree until he can actually pronounce the word, ‘soiree.’  Just put him in a room with Teddy and Victoire, throw in a bouncy castle and chocolate cake, and call it a party.  He’ll be just as happy.”

“My son may not be able to say ‘soiree,’ but he does know the word, ‘tacky.’”

“Second,” Harry continued, ignoring him.  “Malfoy Manor is a much better space for a party than Grimmauld Place.  And we know all the same people, so it would be pointless to invite them to two separate parties when we can have just the big one.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered, as he often did, about his life choices that seem to put him in testing conditions.

Harry grinned.  “So?  Lunch?”

“Can’t today,” he said.  “I have to get ready for a meeting this afternoon, so I have to finish this report.”

“Hmm.  Okay, then.  Maybe I’ll…maybe Ron is back from patrol…”  Harry got up, seemingly mumbling to himself.

Draco picked up his quill and was about to start writing again when Harry stopped on his way out of the office.

“Oh, and Draco?”

He looked up to see Harry grinning impishly at him from beyond the doorframe.

“Should I swing by the Manor tonight, so we can pick out place settings for our party?”

He summoned a gale-forced wind to slam the door in the buffoon’s face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Thoughts?


	3. Agent Haydon's Long Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

If Bennett Haydon owned a Time Turner, he wouldn’t hesitate to go back fifteen years to tell his younger self that one day, he would be hunting down Dark Wizards alongside Harry Potter. 

He would tell himself that when you first meet Harry Potter, he seems like a regular guy.  Unassuming, really, and you might even be a little disappointed about how normal he is.  But, then, something will happen – a belligerent suspect making trouble at the bullpen, or an important new evidence uncovered for a case – and you’ll see a flash in his eyes and a squaring of his shoulders, the spark of the powerful wizard evident underneath the modest persona.

The first time Bennett witnessed this was during a private meeting with him, about a week after his team had settled into their temporary headquarters at the DMLE.  The only other person in the meeting was Hermione Granger, who was standing in the middle of Harry’s office, hands propped firmly on her hips and unconsciously projecting a larger frame, as if confronting a black bear in the wild.

“I can’t believe you’d rather expose unsuspecting families – _families_ , Harry, with _young children_ – in a place that’s just ripe for a terrorist attack.  We can easily just have the students Floo directly into the castle!”  she said. 

“And cause widespread panic, while we’re at it,” Harry scoffed.  He was leaning on the edge of his desk, looking relaxed, except for the telltale gathering of his eyebrows and slight flush of his cheeks.  “Do you think that everyone’s just going to accept that we’re closing down the Hogwarts Express, without us tipping our hand?  People will immediately suspect danger. 

It’s only been ten years since Hogwarts was attacked.  It won’t take much to incite panic among the parents, and we don’t want them pulling students out of Hogwarts.  No, the best course of action would be to keep the Express running, as scheduled, with added security at King’s Cross and inside the Express.”

“How are we supposed to allocate our resources to cover the extra security that would entail?  King’s Cross isn’t the only high-risk place in London that day.  The Wizengamot is hosting some foreign dignitaries throughout that whole day and evening, so we’ll have to keep a good number of Aurors stationed here at the Ministry.  And Puddlemere United has a game at the same bloody time, and we need men there, too!  We’ll be stretched too thin.”

“Hermione,” said Harry, as he rubbed his forehead with his right hand.  “The Ministry has had – is _still_ having – an uphill battle when it comes to gaining public trust.  We need stability – consistency.  Hogwarts Express isn’t just a way to get students from point A to point B.  When they put their children on the Express, those parents are putting their faith in us to keep their children safe.  We can’t just take that away and expect to keep their confidence.”

“It’s just a gratuitous ceremony, Harry,” she said, slowly shaking her head.  “Just a symbolic gesture.”

Harry let out a dry chuckle.  “I think you, more than anyone else I know, can appreciate the power of a symbol.”

Hermione remained quiet for a moment before she continued.  “Say we go through with the Hogwarts Express.  How are we supposed to man the other locations that day?”

Bennett put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, and the witch started, as if she forgot that her partner was in the room.

“Maybe we can contact HQ to request for extra staff in the next few weeks,” said Bennett, determined to make a meaningful contribution to the meeting.  “I know Rickard’s team is wrapping up a mission next week.  That’s enough time for us to get them briefed and deployed on the first of September.”

Hermione was silent, but she looked back at him as if to say, _Do you really think the IWP will expend more men on this mission, at this point?_

Bennett quirked an eyebrow at her, as if to say, _Well, what other choice do we have?  Our hands are tied, aren’t they?_

Hermione pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, as if to say, _We do have another choice.  Harry’s just too stubborn to listen._

He threw her an exasperated look, as if to say, _I think you’re the one who’s being stubborn here, Hermione.  We should listen to Harry.  He’s more familiar with the sociopolitical undercurrents in London.  We don’t want to cause more volatility in the city._

She gave him an indignant expression, as if to say, _I think I’m quite familiar with the goings-on in London!  This is my city, too –_

He cut her off with a cantankerous mien, as if to say, _Not like Harry, and you know it.  You’ve been out of this particular loop for too long, so we need to listen to Harry’s expertise on this one._

They both heard an exaggerated cough and turned to look at Harry, who was no longer leaning on his desk; both feet were now planted solidly on the ground, his back stiff and arms folded across his chest.  Bennett couldn’t read his face, but if he were to hazard a guess, he would go with broad strokes of _frustration_ and _annoyance_.

Hermione cleared her throat.  “We’ll contact IWP to see if they’ll be willing to entertain a request for more agents.  But if their answer is no, we _will_ revisit our other options, Harry.”

Harry responded with only a curt nod.

Bennett and Hermione swiftly left Harry’s office without another word, more than willing to give a little space to diffuse the tension.  As they left the room, Hermione threw Bennett a look of worry, and he gave her a supportive glance before she turned away to walk to her office.

Bennett marveled at his partner as she walked away from him, her shoulders still held high and tight from the residual stress of the shouting match.  Even after that disastrous meeting, she was probably already planning contingencies in her head in case headquarters rejects their request.

She was always thinking ahead, and Bennett appreciated that in his partner.

~xx~XX~xx~

_He struggled to open the front door, as his arms were busy supporting the witch leaning against him.  For such a small woman, she was an awfully substantial dead weight.  He cursed himself for not fixing the wards before they left for their recon mission; it would have been nice to be able to Apparate directly into the safe house instead of messing with the door._

_When they entered the living room, Bennett gingerly helped her onto the couch.  She shifted to lie down, movements stiff and slow._

_He went to the kitchen and brought her back a glass of cool water, which she accepted with a grateful look._

_“That was a stupid move,” he told her gruffly.  Anger and shame warred in his chest, and he wasn’t sure which one would win out._

_“No,” Hermione croaked.  She cleared her throat and took another sip of water before trying again.  “No, it was the best move we could have made.”_

_Bennett looked at her askance._

_“Have you ever been under the Cruciatus Curse?” she asked._

_He shook his head._

_“The first time someone is under the Cruciatus, it usually overwhelms them, to the point where they lose consciousness,” she said.  “It’s not my first time experiencing it, so I knew I could stay awake and still be useful enough with my wand after.  If I hadn’t stepped in to take that curse for you, you would have passed out, and you would have left me to fend for myself against six Dark Wizards.”_

_He grimaced at the thought.  With the two of them relatively functional, they were still barely able to fight their way out of that warehouse.  If she had been left on her own…_

_“Thank you,” he said, looking away from her.  It seemed that shame had won, after all.  “I owe you.”_

_She was silent for a moment.  “Don’t do that,” she said, finally._

_“Don’t do what?”_

_She tried to sit up, hissing when her right arm gave out under her weight._

_Bennett moved to help her, but she grabbed his forearm and directed him to look at her._

_“Don’t start keeping tabs on who owes who,” she said quietly.  “We’re partners now, and we’re probably going to be partners for a long time.  This won’t be the last curse I take for you.”_

_He met her eyes with concern._

_“As long as I’m your partner, I’m always going to have your back,” she fought through her fatigue to meet his gaze clearly.  “And I expect you to always have mine.”_

~xx~XX~xx~

He sat in front of the fireplace in his office, talking to Agent Ludvig McEwan, his counterpart in Paris, via secure Floo call.  McEwan had just informed him of their conclusions in the latest report of the attack on La Rue Charme.

Five weeks ago, wizards and witches of Paris had congregated to the streets of the magical community for Fete de la Magie, the annual celebration of the founding of the French Ministry of Magic.  The holiday is traditionally spent with friends and families in the many shops and restaurants of various magical communities throughout France, culminating to a grand parade on the streets of La Rue Charme that ends just outside of the main ministry building.

At the height of the parade – when hundreds of men, women, and children were drawn to the streets to admire the beautiful floats and talented performers – four large explosions simultaneously blasted along the crowded route.

Over two hundred people were injured; forty-six people died.

In the preliminary report, the remains of four Muggle explosive devices were discovered.  The news rocked the citizens of Wizarding France, beyond the shock of the number of mortalities.  That the weapon used to attack wizards of La Rue Charme was a Muggle apparatus was more than appalling – people felt violated. 

In the latest report, their agents have investigated the crime scene, analyzed the forensic evidence, interrogated witnesses, and have come up with the conclusion that point to…

“Money,” said Bennett.  “And a lot of it.”

McEwan nodded.  “The evidence overwhelmingly suggests that the bombs they used were high-end, military grade.  A device that could produce that much force and wide radius would be worth hundreds of thousands in Euros.  Each.”

Bennett leaned back on his ankles.  “So, Prometheus has got itself a lot of financial backers.”

“Or a few, very wealthy ones,” said McEwan.

Bennett nodded.  “More likely, since Prometheus has only popped up on our radar over a year ago.  It’s a lot of funds available to them for such a young group.”

“We’re following up on leads as to where the devices were bought, now that we have an idea of what to look for.”

“All right, thanks, Ludvig,” said Bennett.  “Keep me updated on the next report.”

Bennett stood up and walked over to his desk, calling for one of their team’s junior staff.

“Cadence,” he said, as a tall, thin man walked into his office.  “Have you finished with the report on the CCTVs near the access points to Diagon Alley?”

Agent Cadence nodded in the affirmative.

“Good,” he said.  “I need to pull you away from surveillance, for now.  I’ve got an assignment for you.” 

~xx~XX~xx~

Bennett could hear the _thud-thud-thud_ of the punching bag before he even stepped through the doors to the department gymnasium.  A spacious arena, it was lined with punching bags, dummies, machines, weapons racks, and free weights.  There was a large space in the middle, probably used for sparring and dueling.

It was six o’clock in the evening, and he expected to share the space with very few people.  When he entered, he saw a lone figure pounding away at a black punching bag.

Harry Potter stopped long enough to glance at him before turning back to thrashing the equipment.  He looked like he had been there for a while, since his usual floppy black hair was now matted to his forehead and his grey shirt soaked with sweat.

After warming up, Bennett went to the free weights several feet away from Harry and selected fifty-pound dumbbells.  He was halfway through his first set when a voice stopped him, mid-curl.

“How long have you and Hermione been together?”

Bennett looked over to where Harry was standing, arms crossed and face, once again, indecipherable.

“Together?”  Bennett asked, surprised at the implication.

“Partners,” Harry corrected.  “How long have you been partners?”

“Three years, just about,” said Bennett.  “Since straight out of the academy.”

Harry looked astonished.  “That long?  I thought IWP partnerships have a high turn-over rate.  Aren’t you supposed to get new partners whenever you get assigned to a new location?”

“Usually,” Bennett granted.  “I had a chance for reassignment when Hermione was promoted to the New York headquarters last year, but I petitioned to get transferred with her.”

Harry made a non-committal sound.  “Why?”

Bennett shrugged.  “It…made sense, I guess.  We already work well together, so I didn’t see the point in splitting up.  Plus, I got to be closer to home than I had been in years.”

“That’s highly unusual, though, isn’t it?”  Harry conjectured.  “To ask for a transfer just so you could stay with your partner.”

“It doesn’t happen very often,” Bennett replied carefully.  “But, you know…it’s Hermione.”

“Right,” said Harry, breaking eye contact and looking to the middle of the room.  “Right.”

Bennett had resumed his workout when Harry once again interrupted him.

“Are you planning on just lifting weights?  Because I usually like to do some sparring when I’m in here, and…” he gestured to the otherwise vacant room.

“Oh.  Sure,” Bennett said.  “Hand-to-hand, weapons, or wands?”

Harry shrugged.  “You’re the guest.”

“Wands, I guess,” he said, and they made their way to the dueling area.

They met in the middle of the room and bowed, then paced in opposite directions.

Bennett turned to face his opponent and immediately jumped, avoiding a wordless blast by a hair’s breadth.  He had just enough time to put up a _Protego_ before three quick jinxes were sent his way, rebounding off his shield charm.

He threw a Stinging Jinx, which Harry easily parried, before he was on the defensive once again.  He dodged a powerful Tempest Jinx, which left a dark singe mark on the floor where he had been standing.  The sight of it riled him up, and he gritted his teeth as he flung a wordless _Filipendo_.

The Knockback Jinx caught Harry high on the shoulder.  He was thrown backward, and he planted one hand on the floor, using the momentum to bend into a backflip.  He shot a jinx before his feet touched back on the ground.

The mid-recovery return caught Bennett by surprise; he fell on his back and skidded three feet from where he was standing. 

Before he could get his limbs to work, he heard Harry say, “ _Immobulus_.”

Helpless on his back and unable to move, he could only watch as Harry walked into his line of vision.

“You leave your left side open,” said Harry, looking down at him impassively.

He heard Harry mutter a _Finite_ , and he closed his eyes in chagrin.  When he opened them again, he saw a hand extended out to help him.

Harry assisted him up from the floor.  “Again?” he asked, after giving him a moment to regain his equilibrium.

Bennett looked at him and nodded.

~xx~XX~xx~

Bennett walked into the living room, fresh from his post-workout shower.  Simon Flynn was sitting on the couch, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, as he perused the documents stacked in front of him on the coffee table.

Bennett walked over to the couch and sank down, letting out a loud, protracted sigh.

“Long day?” Simon asked.

“Huh,” Bennett grunted.  He lolled his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

Before Simon could respond, there was an audible _whoosh_ from the foyer of the townhouse.  The moderately-sized building, owned by the IWP, is used to house their agents, as well as lower-level officials of the International Confederation of Wizards.  The bedrooms were modest and utilitarian, but the shared living areas were comfortable and the kitchen, modern. 

Maria Velazquez soon entered the living room, depositing her cloak on the back of an armchair as she walked over to the couch to join her co-worker friends.  She perched on the arm next to Simon.

“Hey, all,” she said, and she gave Simon a questioning look as she pointedly glanced at Bennett.  “Long day?”

“Huh,” both men responded.

Bennett opened one eye in their direction.  “Have you guys had dinner?”

“Not yet,” Maria said, as Simon shook his head.

“My turn to cook,” said Bennett.  “Steak?”

Maria nodded enthusiastically.

“Three steaks, coming up,” he said, getting up from the couch and heading to the kitchen.

“You can take the boy out of Texas, but…” Simon chuckled to himself.

“Three?  Where’s your work wife tonight?” Bennett heard Maria call out to him.

“She told me she’s going out with her best friends,” he said.  He took the steaks out of the freezer to defrost as he started working on the marinade.

“Which one?  Harry Potter?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think she’d have dinner with him tonight,” Simon butted in.  “I ran into the two of them in the elevator when I was coming back from lunch.  I think I may have interrupted a fight when I got in.  _That_ was an awkward ride.  Lot of tension.”

“Tension?  Of a sexual nature?” Maria joked.

“Is there any other kind?” Simon asked wickedly.

Maria laughed, a charming bell of a laugh that negated her daunting guise.

“That’s not too surprising,” she said.  “He’s the ex, right?  They were together before she joined the IWP?”

“No, you’re thinking of Ron Weasley,” Bennett interjected from the kitchen.  He frowned as he hunted for the potatoes he thought he saw yesterday.

“Really?  Weasley?” said Simon.  “He’s one of the deputy heads of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol.  I’ve been working closely with him since we got here.  Nice guy.  Really funny.  Didn’t peg him to be Hermione’s type, though.”

“That’s probably why they didn’t work out,” Bennett said.  He had quickly given up on the potatoes and was now seasoning the bundle of asparagus he found in the crisper.

“Anyway, I don’t think she’s out with him.  He mentioned something about being on patrol at Hogsmeade tonight,” said Simon.

“Oh, so if not Potter or Weasley, who else could she be seeing tonight?” he heard Maria ask.

Bennett decided to focus on cooking dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Thoughts?


	4. Like a Sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

 

The blonde, the brunette, and the redhead were garnering attention on the dance floor at Blue Door, a new and popular club in Soho.

The DJ had put on a pulsating, techno beat, conducive for rhythmic hip-swaying, head-bobbing, and possibly even jumping up and down, which made the blonde’s endless twirling a rather peculiar choice of dance.  Her stringy, dirty-blonde hair flew around her head, and her arms were spread out wide as she gazed up at the ceiling with a languorous smile.

The brunette was dancing around the strange blonde woman, prancing about as if stuck in her orbit.  She was gently maneuvering people away from the blonde’s erratic path, minimizing her potential for bodily harm.

The girl with the copper hair, dancing near the bizarre couple, was attracting attention, as well, but for quite a different reason.  Her dark violet halter dress emphasized the soft curves of her athletic figure.  Her movements were coordinated and graceful as she smoothly swayed to the music.  She caught the eye of several men in her vicinity, and they tried to approach her for a dance, which she politely declined.

This was, after all, Girls’ Night – something they hadn’t been able to do in years – and she wanted to just dance with her girls.

A few hours and several shots of vodka later, they found themselves at the pub across the street.  Their feet were hurting, despite the cushioning charms they had put on their high-heeled shoes at the beginning of the evening, but they weren’t quite ready to call it a night.

**“** Then she flew _over his head_ and tossed the Quaffle in the goal post right behind him,” Ginny told Luna, who wasn’t at the Burrow and had missed Hermione’s stylish flying.

Hermione laughed, face flushed with glee and alcohol.  “Oh, it was _priceless_.  I honestly didn’t think it was going to work.  I’ve never done that before on a broom.  But, oh, that look he gave me when I was flying toward him…he was lucky I didn’t throw that Quaffle at his smug face!”

Ginny clapped her hands on the table in delight.  “You should have seen it, Luna!  Ron just… _hovered_ there for three minutes with his mouth open, his eyes all _glazed_.”

She took a sip of her beer.  Luna smiled beatifically at her, before turning to Hermione, “Oh, is it like that look he gets after sex?”

Ginny spit her beer back into her mug, coughing and sputtering.  Her eyes started watering from the burning in her nostrils.

“Now that I think about it, yeah, Luna, a lot like,” said Hermione, trying to keep herself from falling off the barstool with laughter.

“Thanks, girls,” Ginny said acidly.  “I could have gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“That’s what you get for being friends with your brother’s ex-girlfriends,” Hermione ribbed lightly.

“Ugh, someone _Obliviate_ me now,” Ginny muttered.

“I would have liked to have seen you play Quidditch, Hermione,” Luna said.  “I’m sure it would have been an interesting game to commentate.”

“How did you get so comfortable on a broom, anyway?” Ginny asked curiously.  She had been wondering for days.  “Last time I saw you, you wouldn’t even touch a broom **.**   Now, you’re a natural flyer.”

“I don’t know about ‘natural,’ but I once had to fly for almost three straight hours by myself, in the dark.  After that, flying has never really been an issue.”

“Where did you go that you needed to take three hours by broom?” Luna asked.

Hermione tried to answer without giving away too much information about her work.  “I was holed up…somewhere…cut off from the rest of my team for several days since Apparition was being carefully monitored in the area.  Thankfully, I ran into a witch from a nearby friendly enclave, and she gave me a broom, so I could fly to my team stationed two hundred kilometers away.”

Ginny whistled.  “Must have been the worst experience of your life.”

Hermione laughed wryly.  “I’m not sure I can label anything as ‘the worst experience of my life,’ just because there are far too many candidates.  But, it wasn’t as bad as I would have thought.  It helped that I had to fly at night to escape detection, so I couldn’t really see the ground below me.”

“I’m sure the stars must have been beautiful,” Luna said musingly.  Hermione agreed.

~xx~XX~xx~

Ginny hurried inside the entrance to Modish Mess, a new boutique tea shop in Diagon Alley.  She took off her drenched outer robe and hat as she looked around.  She saw her three o’clock appointment sitting at a glass top table by the picture window, waving at her enthusiastically.

She made her way to the eager woman, who stood up to shake her hand.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Weasley,” Carys Price said, greeting her with a bright smile.  “Thank you so much for meeting me today.  Hope you didn’t get too wet out outside, that rain came on quite suddenly.”

“It’s not a problem,” Ginny said, sitting down at the empty chair across from the animated woman.  She dried her cloak and hat with her wand and placed the hat back on her head.

“I’m so grateful that you’re willing to do this interview with me,” said Carys.  “It’s not every day a junior staff writer can get an exclusive with the best Quidditch player in the league.”

Ginny waved a hand dismissively.  “Oh, that’s very flattering, but there have been some amazing players this season.  Dylis Lewis over at the Magpies has been unrelenting with that Bludger, and Lennox Keith has had a perfect record catching the Snitch.”

“True, but you have the best record of the Chasers this season, and by a wide margin,” said Carys.

Ginny shrugged and gave a modest grin.

“Is it all right if we start?” Carys asked, and Ginny nodded.

“Great!  Since we’re already on the topic, congratulations on another great season!” said Carys.  “This is your fourth season in a row that you’re topping the leaderboard on most individual points scored among the Chasers in the entire league.  What do you think has been helping you improve your game?”

“Uh, the first thing I would credit is my incredible team,” Ginny said.  “I know the numbers only count whoever puts that Quaffle through the hoop, but I couldn’t have done it without MacKenzie Gary and Gabby Bowen.  It’s most definitely a team effort.”

Carys had her head down, writing furiously in her notebook.  Ginny appreciated that she didn’t use a Quick-Quotes Quill like some reporters, who were less concerned with accuracy.

“The second thing I credit for my success for the last few years,” Ginny continued, “is learning how to balance work and everything else in life.  When I first started with the Harpies, I was so focused on being an asset to the team that I let everything else fall to the wayside.  I found that when my personal life suffered, so did my professional one.  Now, I make sure to find time for family and friends, as well as training.”

“Excuse us,” said a timid voice, and Ginny looked to find two young girls standing near her table.  “Ms. Ginny Weasley?  Can we…may we please have an autograph?”

Ginny smiled kindly.  “Of course, girls.”  She took the parchment from the younger girl’s unsteady hand.

She turned her attention back to Carys when the girls left.  “I’m sorry, where were we?”

“You were saying that you have been spending time with family and friends,” Carys replied.  “It’s been reported that Hermione Granger is back in the UK.  Is she one of the friends that you’ve been seeing?”

Ginny tried to not let her disappointment show; maybe Carys wasn’t so different from the other vultures, after all.  “Of course.  Hermione and I have always been close, despite what less reliable publications have written about us in the past.”

Carys had the grace to blush **.** “I’m sorry if I offended you.  It’s just that, with so many stories out there regarding your relationship with Ms. Granger…so, there’s never been any bad blood between you?  No animosity, no drama?”

She remained silent for a moment.  “Do you have any siblings, Ms. Price?  Sisters?” she then asked austerely.

“Yes,” Carys replied.  “Two sisters.”

“And you get along with them all the time, then?  No drama, as you say?”

“There’s some drama,” she consented.  “Nothing more than usual among sisters.  But, generally, we get along.”

“Well,” said Ginny.  “Hermione’s been my big sister since I was a child.  There’s no more drama between us than there is between any two sisters.”

~xx~XX~xx~

_Harry had his arm around her, again._

_The sight of it through the window stopped her in her tracks on her way to the front door.  It was a wide couch, with plenty of space, but there he sat, snuggled up against her, with his head angled down as if looking at something on her lap._

_Ginny glared at them through the window, trying to subdue the tightness in her chest.  She could only see the backs of their heads, but it was a familiar enough posture that she could guess that Hermione was reading a book, and Harry was reading over her shoulder._

_It was just something they picked up during their time on the run, according to Hermione.  Through the days when the snow and the cold kept them trapped in their tent, huddled under a few blankets for warmth, Hermione would read.  Harry, with nothing better to do, would read with her.  It annoyed Hermione, at first, because Harry was a slower reader.  But he soon improved his reading speed, and she couldn’t begrudge him the only distraction to their dismal situation._

_Ginny frowned.  Well, they were no longer in that blasted tent.  They were here, at Hermione’s cozy house, where there was a telly and a stack of DVDs.  There was Crookshanks to pet, and a computer to play games.  There was an entire wall of books, if Harry really_ wanted _to read.  There was no reason for them to sit there like that and read from the same fucking book._

_They had grown increasingly comfortable with showing each other affection as they grew up, but after they came back from their journey hunting Horcruxes, Ginny found their level of physical intimacy almost unbearable.  It wasn’t even that they were doing it – okay, it was a little bit that.  It was that they did it reflexively – arms around each other as they walked, or fingers stroking away unruly locks from the other’s face as they talked.  Ginny knew they did it without thinking, but she couldn’t quell the jealousy that arose every time._

_“They’re not,” she heard, and she looked over to find Ron near the front door, leaning against the siding of the house as a cigarette glowed in his hand._

_“What are you talking about?” she asked._

_“Whatever it is you’re thinking,” he replied.  “They’re not.”_

_“You’re reading into things too much.”_

_“Oh, so when you’re standing in the garden glaring daggers at them through the window, you’re not wondering if they might be fucking around behind your back?”_

_She walked over to where he stood and plucked the cigarette out of his hand.  Throwing it to the ground, she crushed her heel into the lighted end.  “Vile habit,” she muttered._

_“Hermione hates it, too.  But, sometimes, I just really need one.  Can’t help it.”_

_Ginny rolled her eyes.  “That’s called an addiction, Ron.”_

_“You can thank Charlie for me, then.  He’s the one who turned me onto this stuff,” he said.  “Anyway, don’t go jumping down Harry’s throat when you get in there, just because you saw them reading together again.”_

_“I just don’t know why they have to keep on doing it,” she said, bitterly._

_“Beats me,” Ron said.  “It used to bother me, too, but I learned to let it go.  Now, Hermione and I are –”_

_“Broken up?”_

_“—great,” said Ron.  “All right, we’re not together anymore, but we’re still great friends.  And we wouldn’t be, if I gave into the urge to yell at her every time she and Harry were too close for my comfort.  She probably would have resented me if I’d done that.”_

_Ginny scoffed.  “It always surprised me how_ you _were able to keep your cool when you saw them together like that.”_

_“Whenever I would get jealous, I just reminded myself what Harry told me years ago,” said Ron.  “That they’re just like a brother and sister, that’s all.”_

_“Ron,_ you _and_ I _are brother and sister.  And never in our entire lives have we sat together on a couch,” Ginny sneered, “and_ cuddled. _”_

_Ron raised both hands up in mock surrender.  “Okay, I get your point.  But I stand by what I said. Stop giving Harry a hard time about Hermione.  They’re like that, and they’re always going to be like that whether you’re around or not.”_

_Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden noise from the front door cut through the silence, quickly followed by, “Ron, I hope you’re not out here sm—oh, Ginny!  You made it!”_

_Ginny tried to school her features into a smile.  “Hey, Hermione.  Sorry I missed dinner.  Practice ran late, and I would have Owled you if I—”_

_“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione cut in, ushering her into the house.  “You didn’t miss anything.  You know how boring these two can be when there’s food in front of them.”_

_“Oy!  I resent that!” Harry said, as he came up to greet her.  He leaned in to kiss her, and she pressed her lips together, receiving it chastely._

_“It’s true, though,” Ron said.  “I already see the two of you at the Auror Office_ every. Single. Day. _Why is it that we still have these weekly dinners to ‘catch up?’”_

_“Why are you complaining, Ron?  Aren’t you the one who kept wheedling Hermione to join us as an Auror when she was slowly dying of boredom as a Wizengamot clerk?  If anything, our boring dinner conversations are your fault.  We could have been chock-full of juicy Wiz-gossip by now,” said Harry._

_“Wednesday nights are the only times I get to see Ginny, since she’s so busy with training,” Hermione said, and looked at her.  “Not that you working hard is a bad thing.  I just—well, I miss spending time with you.”_

_Ginny’s throat constricted, and she could only respond with a tight smile._

_“And if you two are so inconvenienced by these dinners, then maybe Ginny and I will just go off on our own,” Hermione told them sternly, and turned to smile brightly at Ginny.  “Hey, maybe we can even make it a girls’ night!”_

~xx~XX~xx~

Ginny walked into the ballroom at Malfoy Manor and looked for familiar faces.  By the side table holding canapes stood Ron and Hermione.  Hermione caught her eye and waved her over.

“Hi, Ginny!” said Hermione, enthusiastically.  “You look lovely!”

“Thanks,” said Ginny, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the skirt of her emerald green dress.  “You, too.  Hey, Ron.  Where’s Sam?”

“She’s at the Children’s Carnival outside.  She said it’s because she wants to get in ‘practice’ around kids, but I’m pretty sure she’s only there for the cupcakes,” said Ron, and added quickly in a mortified tone, “Please don’t tell her I said that.”

“Let her be,” said Ginny.  “As if you’ve got any right to criticize anyone’s eating habits.  At least she’s got a good reason: she’s growing another human being inside her.  What’s your excuse?”

“I…participated?”

Ginny sighed in disgust.  Hermione covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a laugh.

“Anyway,” said Ron, a bit pink in the cheeks.  “You’re a bit late.  Going stag tonight?  Where’s your boyfriend?”

“He’s checking in our cloaks with the house elves.”

Hermione looked startled.  “Wait, boyfriend?  I didn’t realize that you were seriously seeing anyone.”

“Well—I don’t—I mean,” Ginny stuttered.  “I’ve been seeing someone.  For the past, um, eight months, now, I think.”

“That’s wonderful!” Hermione said.  “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Great, because here he comes,” said Ron as he looked over to one set of French doors leading from the hallway.

The two women followed his gaze as a very tall man made his way through the ballroom.  He was stopped a few times by middle-aged couples from the Malfoy’s old social circle.  He greeted them with practiced ease, acknowledging the men with graceful nods and the women with a light kiss on the knuckles of their gloved hands.

He reached Ginny momentarily, giving her a warm smile that reached his bright eyes.  “Gin, there you are—” he faltered as he saw Ginny’s companions.  “Hermione.  You’re back.”

Hermione’s eyes were wide as saucers.  “Hello.  Uh, yes, I’m back. For now,” she replied, and after a momentary pause.  “For work.”

Ginny felt the familiar ball of tightness in her chest as she looked at them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Thoughts?


	5. Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

_It was the first time he had seen her since the Battle of Hogwarts, and she was wearing a white tunic dress.  She looked like an apparition against the vaulted ceiling and dramatic archways of the backdrop._

_She was walking around the perimeter of the main space of the Angel Oresanz Center, an old synagogue that shared the fate of many historic buildings in New York City – restored and repurposed as a gallery or event hall for the artistic or the aristocratic._

_Tonight, the center hosted a fundraiser for the incumbent mayor’s re-election campaign.  It was a twenty thousand dollars-a-plate affair; he was surprised that she was in attendance._

_He grabbed two flutes of Krug champagne off a passing server and stalked a few paces behind her, watching her admire the columns and moldings of the lancet windows._

_“Gothic revival,” he said quietly, as he stepped up and extended a flute to her.  “Terribly romantic, but a rather portentous background for a politician, don’t you think?”_

_She gazed at him briefly, and he saw when she was able to place him._

_“Theodore Nott,” she said, and she only hesitated another moment before taking the champagne he offered, nodding her thanks.  “I’m surprised to see you here.”_

_“Not as surprised as I am to see you, Granger,” he replied._

_“Hermione,” she said, with a small smile._

_“Then, it’s Theo,” he insisted.  “What brings you to this event, Hermione?”_

_“Work,” she replied, simply, and didn’t expound on her answer.  “And you?”_

_“Mr. Swenderson considers me a close, personal friend,” he said, and grimaced.  “At least, on election years.”_

_Hermione laughed softly.  “It must be burdensome to have seasonal friends.”_

_He shrugged.  “It’s nice to be needed only sometimes.”_

_He joined her on her walk around the function hall.  When they reached the stage, he spouted facts about the history of the building, which would have impressed any other woman._

_Hermione only smiled indulgently and filled in the gaps of his knowledge._

_“It’s actually inspired by the Cologne Cathedral,” she said.  “The architect grew up in Germany and was influenced by its Gothic churches when he designed this building.  But it does have a remarkable resemblance to the Cathedral of Notre-Dame.  Have you been?”_

_“Yes, but I haven’t been for a while.  I lived in Paris shortly after the War,” he said the word quietly, in case No-Maj ears picked up their conversation.  “But I’ve had no time to go back since I relocated to London.  Too busy with the company over the last few years.  The only place I get a chance to regularly visit is New York.”_

_“Business?” she asked._

_“Mostly,” he said, with a smirk.  “We just opened up a branch here last year.”_

_They shared another drink and had a pleasant exchange.  She asked polite questions about his company, and he asked after their shared acquaintances back home._

_Then, they parted ways for the evening._

~xx~XX~xx~

_The second time he ran into her, she wore a midnight blue dress, with a fetching black bow around her waist.  They were at Billington Hall in the magical sector of New York City.  She was dancing with a man in a dark dress robe and salt-and-pepper hair, and she smiled courteously as he spoke without end._

_When the song switched, he swiftly tapped the man’s shoulder to ask to cut in._

_“You’re welcome,” Theo said in her ear when the man stepped away._

_Hermione smiled at him amusingly.  “He’s a nice man.  I just wish he was interesting, too.”_

_“You have to forgive him.  There are only a few men in the world who can make mergers and acquisitions sound exciting, and Frank Sternberg is not one of them.”_

_She quirked an eyebrow at him.  “And, I suppose you count yourself as one of those man who can?”_

_“Here I thought, you enjoyed our last conversation, Granger,” he said, in mock mortification._

_“Hermione,” she reminded him._

_“Hermione,” he said.  “I didn’t expect to run into you at this function.  I never realized that you championed the endangered Orange Rhino as one of your many purported causes.”_

_“Not usually,” she said.  “I’m here for work.  Not that I’m not glad to be here.  One must do what one can to prevent the extinction of an entire species.  Isn’t that why you’re here?”_

_“Truthfully, no,” he admitted.  “I’m here because the chairperson for the Magical Chamber of Commerce is over there, with the woman in red who looks like she could be his daughter but isn’t.  And, also, for that man over there, James Cooke, head of the Department of Labor.”_

_“MACUSA?” she asked, and he nodded._

_“And a few more people who might be worth being on friendly terms, for the sake of my company.”_

_As they turned slowly during their dance, he pointed out the people in the room with the most money or political clout.  She seemed to have heard the names of those he indicated, though she professed not to be personally acquainted with most of them._

_“If I had more time, I would introduce you to some of the guests,” he said, regretfully.  “But I have a dinner appointment with a potential client across town, and I need to be going soon.”_

_“It’s all right, Theo,” she said.  “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again sometime.”_

_“Looking forward to it, then,” he said._

_He pulled her right hand up for a light kiss, and they parted for the night._

~xx~XX~xx~

_He wasn’t surprised when he saw her at his table near the front of the room. It was the wedding reception for the governor’s daughter, and Hermione was settled in the chair next to his assigned seat.  She wore a shimmery green dress, which complimented the earth tones of her hair and eyes._

_“Are you deliberately trying to get my attention with that dress?” he asked teasingly as he took his seat.  “Because it’s working.”_

_“Hello, Theo,” she said, turning to greet him._

_“Hermione.  Let me guess.  You’re here for work?”_

_She nodded._

_“You know, you never did tell me what it is that you actually_ do _,” he said._

_“No, I never did,” she said, and he gave her a sardonic smile._

_“Come now, don’t make me beg for more information.”_

_She put a finger to her chin, pretending to consider her options, when she smiled and said, “All right, I won’t make you beg.  I work for the International Wizarding Police.”_

_It wasn’t an answer that he was expecting, and he told her so.  “I wouldn’t have predicted the IWP would be interested in social events like this.”  He gesticulated to the head table, where the glittering bride was smiling down at the guests below as her new husband drank Scotch from a crystal tumbler._

_“The IWP has a lot of interests,” she said, “and my work takes me everywhere.  Although, I must admit, my assignments aren’t usually this glamorous.  It feels like each party I go to tries to top each other in opulence.”_

_She looked around the Lake Room at the Central Park Boathouse and admired the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the darkening body of water._

_“An assignment, at the governor’s charming daughter’s wedding?” he said as he moved closer and whispered conspiratorially.  “How intriguing.  Tell me, Agent Granger, are you here to spy on someone?  Who?”_

_She leaned in and mock-whispered, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”_

_He laughed and threw his hands up in surrender.  “All right, I give up.  I don’t need to know, Hermione.”_

_As the courses were brought out, they talked congenially about the goings on that occurred in New York City since their last meeting.  As the after-dinner cocktails were served, he stretched his long legs and held a hand out to her._

_“I believe I owe you some introductions,” he said._

_They went about the room, mingling with the guests.  At first, they stood side-by-side as they made polite conversations with the others.  They shared small caresses – a hand on the arm as they walked; a touch on the back as they maneuvered around attendees; lips inadvertently grazing the other’s ear as they whispered to each other – while they circulated the room in the hours that followed._

_At the end of the night, they did not part ways as usual.  Instead, he invited her to his penthouse in the Upper West Side, and she agreed to join him._

~xx~XX~xx~

“Did I wake you?” he heard her say sleepily, as she twisted to face him on the bed.  “I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” he reassured her, and he dropped a kiss on her copper hair.  “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Still feeling wired from the party?” Ginny asked.

“I guess so,” he said quietly.  He absentmindedly traced a hand down her back.  She wore nothing under the smooth bedsheet.

Ginny was silent for a few minutes, and Theo thought she had gone back to sleep.  Then, she said, “I didn’t realize that you and Hermione were friendly.  I don’t remember her saying that you two even spoke to each other, when we were in Hogwarts.”

He contemplated his answer before he replied to her.  “She and I kept running into each other in New York last year.”  He gave her another kiss and said, “Go back to sleep, love.  It’s still too early to be up, and you have a long day of practice ahead of you.  You need your rest.”

She sighed loudly, and he turned to looked at her.  He could only see the faint outline of her face in the dim bedroom, but he felt the tension in her body as he held her.

“Relax,” he said, rubbing her back lightly.

She grumbled, still seeming troubled.

He pushed Ginny gently on her back and shifted his body to hover over her.  He nuzzled the crook of her neck, saying, “Here.  Let me help you.”

He kissed his way down her body under the cool, silk sheet.

~xx~XX~xx~

He was almost through sorting the papers on his desk when the fireplace in his study roared to life.  Draco stepped through the green fire, carrying a wriggling Scorpius in his arms.  He set the rambunctious toddler on the ground as soon as they entered the room.

“Hi, Unca Tio!” he yelled excitedly.

Theo put his hands on his knees as he bent down to greet his godson.  “Well, hello there, little man.  Did you enjoy your birthday party yesterday?”

“Yeah!” said Scorpius.  “I gots lots of pwesents.  Wanna see?”

“Sure.  Why don’t we have Bobbity set you up at your playroom while I say ‘bye to your dad?”

He called for the house elf, and Scorpius nippily went with him, too eager to showcase his loot to spare Draco a farewell.

“Thank you for taking him, Theo,” said Draco.  “I know you’re probably exhausted after just returning yesterday morning, but he’s been asking to come here since he saw you at the party.  How was Paris?”

“The last few weeks have been grueling,” he complained.  “I’ve had to completely turn over upper management at the Paris office, train a whole new staff.  I may have to keep going back over the next month.”

“And Daphne?”

“As pleasant as always.”

Draco nodded, and turned back to the fireplace to leave.  “Thanks again.  I’ll be back for him in a few hours.”

“Take your time,” said Theo, unsure of what to say next.  ‘Have a good visit’ didn’t seem quite right, so he settled for returning the nod as Draco left through the Floo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd appreciate your comments/reviews!


	6. Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

Pansy sat alone at the head of the long dining table, where she liked to take her breakfast.  The room was thankfully quiet; the house elf had popped out of the room shortly after placing tea, toast, and marmalade on the table. 

By this time on most mornings, she would already be in her study, busy working on her manuscript.  But they had returned very late from last night’s party, and Pansy felt lethargic and heavy when she got out of bed.

She didn’t drink to excess last night at Malfoy Manor – just the usual few cocktails over several hours.  Still, it took a lot of effort to drag herself from under the covers by mid-morning. 

She stretched her long neck side to side and picked up her cup of tea.  She had her face turned toward the window and almost dropped her cup when she was startled by the noise of someone entering the room.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” said Luna, as she nearly floated into the room.

“Not your fault.  I’m a bit on edge this morning,” Pansy replied graciously.  She mopped up the tea that had spilled on the table.

Luna tilted her head and gazed at her with concern.  “Did you not sleep well?”

“Maybe not enough,” she admitted.

“Perhaps you should go back to bed and get some more rest.  Would you like me to get you a sleeping draught?” Luna asked, and she started fussing around the cabinets of the server.

 “No, thank you,” Pansy said.  “I have somewhere I need to be today.”

“Oh?  Where are you going?”

“It’s the first of August,” she replied simply.  Luna stopped her fretting and strolled over to Pansy’s chair.  She hovered over her, pale eyes clear with understanding.

She placed a gentle hand on Pansy’s cheek and leaned down to give her a soft kiss on the lips.  “Say ‘hello’ for me,” she said.

~xx~XX~xx~

_She fought to keep the smile on her face and the disappointment from bleeding into her eyes.  Astoria was regarding her with regret and apprehension.  Pansy battled her usual acerbic reaction to unwelcome news; she didn’t want to cause her friend any undue stress._

_“I’m so sorry, Pansy,” she said.  “He really insists on it, and there’s just no changing his mind.”_

_Pansy leaned forward and took hold of Astoria’s hand, which rested on her swollen belly._

_“Don’t worry about me, Stor,” she said, and scrutinized Astoria’s pretty face.  “But are you sure_ you’re _all right with it?  It doesn’t sound like this is something you want.”_

_Astoria shrugged.  “I’d much rather have you as the baby’s godmother.  At least we were able to agree on Theo.”_

_“But, Granger?” Pansy asked, unable to hide her incredulity.  “I know they worked together at the Auror Office, but I had no idea that they were even that close.  Last I heard, she’s not even in the country.”_

_“They’re friends,” Astoria replied.  “I’ve yet to meet her, but, from what he tells me, she’s been a very good friend to him for years.”_

_Pansy raised an eyebrow, posing a silent question._

_“Not like that,” Astoria said, and playfully swatted Pansy’s hand.  “Though, you shouldn’t be casting stones at anyone.  Didn’t you used to date my husband when you were in school together?”_

_Pansy pulled a revolted face.  “Ah, what was I thinking?”_

_“Hey!” Astoria said, pretending offence._

_“I just meant that my taste has changed since then.  I find tall, muscular men with dark black hair much more appealing, now.  I’m over blonds.”_

_“I don’t agree.  I think there’s something debonair about blond men,” Astoria said, and she stroked the top of her belly absentmindedly.  “I hope the baby has blond hair.  How darling would that be?  Like a little cherub, with white-blond hair and rosy cheeks.”_

_“He’s a Malfoy, so he’ll inherit the hair, certainly,” Pansy said, and then laughed when she came to a realization.  “A Malfoy, who’ll have a Mudblood for a godmother.  I wonder, how many generations of Malfoys must be rolling in their graves?”_

_“Pansy,” Astoria said, warningly.  “You really need to stop using that word.  I know you don’t buy into that school of thought any more than I do, so I don’t know why you haven’t taken it out of your vocabulary.”_

_“Why do I do anything?  To be provocative,” Pansy said, wiping away the imaginary dust on her lap.  “All right, I promise, when that baby is born, I’ll never, ever use that word again.  Consider it my first gift to him.”_

_“Thank you,” said Astoria, with a small smile, and then sighed.  “I’m sorry you don’t get to be his godmother.”_

_“It’s all right,” Pansy said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.  “Just make sure I get the next one.”_

~xx~XX~xx~

It was a hot day; Pansy regretted wearing such heavy fabric.  She stopped on the walkway to unfasten her robe, revealing the simple black sheath dress underneath.

“Pansy Parkinson?” she heard from close behind her.  She turned around and saw Hermione Granger strolling over to her.  Pansy felt her face fall into a familiar sneer.

“Granger,” she said, flatly.  “What are you doing here?”

The brunette raised her eyebrows.  “Same as you, I imagine.”

“I’m here to see my best friend,” Pansy said haughtily, lifting her chin higher in the air.

“As am I,” Granger replied, slowly.

They stood for another moment under the unforgiving sun, before Pansy huffed, “Well, let’s go, then.  No need to stand around like a pair of fucking idiots.”

They started walking together, the loud crunching of the gravel under their feet the only sound that breached the stillness of the day.

Until Granger broke the uncomfortable silence.  “Did Luna tell you that we went out last week?”

“Yes, she came home completely shit-faced,” Pansy sneered.  “Thank you for that, by the way.  We didn’t have any Sober-Up, and the apothecary wasn’t open by the time she stumbled into the house.  I didn’t get any sleep because I had to take care of my alcohol-poisoned girlfriend the whole night.”

Granger’s face crumpled.  “Sorry,” she said.  “I wasn’t in a better condition when I went home.  Luckily, we had plenty of Sober-Up potion.  Can’t have too many of those stocked up in a house full of IWP agents.”

She scoffed.  “Well, lucky you, then.”

Granger hummed quietly in response.

They bore another few moments of silence before Granger, who was looking at the surroundings, once again spoke.  “I didn’t think this estate would be so big.”

“The Greengrasses are a wealthy family,” she said, with a strong urge to defend at the implied insult.  “The manor grounds even include the forest you see over there.  And, this is just one of their many properties all over the world.”

“Pansy,” Granger said, with obvious hesitation in her voice.  “Why is she here?  Instead of at Malfoy Manor?”

“I don’t know,” she retorted snippily.  “It’s not like we ever discussed what would happen in this circumstance over tea.  Ask Draco.”

They had reached a large, stone building; they walked through the archway, which was adorned with an ornate ‘G’ guarded by two stone angels.

Inside, there was only one narrow corridor, flanked by high walls carved with names, numbers, and sentiments.  Near the end of the passageway stood a lonely figure, who held a hand against the cool stone, his bright blond head reflecting the gleam of the lamplight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Sorry this is such a short chapter -- I'm eager to get us to the next one!  
> I know the flashbacks can be a bit confusing without dates, so I’ve posted a rough timeline for this story on my Tumblr: mykesprit[.]tumblr[.]com
> 
> I'd appreciate reviews/comments!


	7. Right Around the Rosebushes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

 

_The warm summer breeze that swept through the garden was a welcome change from the artificially cool air inside the ballroom.  Draco dashed around a row of tall rosebushes, and his feet caught on a pair of legs reclined on the grass, sending him toppling head-first to the ground._

_“I’m so sorry!” he heard a feminine voice say.  “Are you all right?”_

_He scrambled up to his feet while her small hands helped brush off blades of grass that clung to the front of his dress robe._

_“I’m fine, you don’t have to— “he halted as he caught sight of her face.  Even in the dim light that glowed from the large ballroom windows, she looked lovely.  Her dark hair was pulled up, exposing her dainty neck, and her even darker eyes were fringed with long, thick lashes._

_“Astoria,” he finally said.  “Are you okay?  I didn’t hurt you, did I?”_

_Astoria snickered.  “I’m fine, Draco.  I’m not the one who fell on my face.”_

_Draco felt his cheeks burn, and he quickly tried to get off the subject.  “Why aren’t you inside?  This ball is in your honor, and you’re neglecting your guests.”_

_She pursed her lips.  “It’s not just for me.  It’s for my sister and her husband, too, and they’re doing a fine job of rubbing elbows without my help.  I don’t think this is even for my benefit, anyway; my parents know I don’t get along with anyone in their social circle.”_

_“I’m sure your parents are just excited to have you and your sister living in the country again,” he said courteously.  “Are you not happy that you moved back?”_

_“I am,” she said.  “No matter where I live, this place will always be home.”_

_“This place?  Not the posh flat high above the streets of Paris?  You didn’t like the shopping, the food, the attendants waiting on you hand and foot?” he teased._

_“I did,” she said.  She reached out and took hold of a white rosebud jutting out.  “But none of it compares to this garden that I planted and tended, or the manor halls that I grew up in, or the house elves who basically raised me as a child.  I missed it all.”_

_“I feel the same way about Malfoy Manor.  No matter what happened inside that place – “he faltered._

_Astoria smiled genially at him and steered the conversation away from the loaded topic. “Why are you out here instead of mingling with the rest of the highborn?”_

_Draco scoffed.  “I’m an Auror.  Which makes me a social pariah in these circles.  Not that I mind.  I only come to these things to escort my mother.”_

_“Well, I’m glad you came tonight.  These roses are beautiful, but they’re not particularly talkative,” she said, with a playful grin._

_“I’m not sure I’ll have much more to say,” he said uncertainly._

_“Stay out here with me, anyway,” she said.  “Even if you don’t talk, you’re just as pretty to look at.”_

~xx~XX~xx~

_They sat edgily at the dinner table.  Astoria had invited him home to dine with her sister and brother-in-law; Draco had forgotten how unpleasant the former could be._

_“It’s negligent,” Daphne said haughtily.  “You shouldn’t be out playing Auror.  You’re an only child, which means you have the sole responsibility to take care of your family’s businesses and estate.  Those shouldn’t be left in the hands of people outside of the family.”_

_“It’s only unorthodox,” her husband argued.  “But it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be able to do whatever he wants.  Just because his family is part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight doesn’t mean that he has to be stuck in an office managing an estate like a damned eighteenth-century lord.”_

_“Thank you, Theo,” Astoria said graciously and turned her attention to her sister.  “Being an Auror is an honor, Daph.  Not too many wizards have the skills for it, and even less have the aptitude to gain the high rank that Draco received in only a few short years.”_

_“All I am saying,” sneered Daphne, “is that Draco is the only one left of the Malfoys who can take care of his holdings.  Narcissa is too old to be expected to run his companies.  He doesn’t have another sibling to handle family duties; he doesn’t have_ your _kind of luxury.”_

_“That’s enough,” Draco said sharply.  He set his utensils down and leaned in to glare menacingly at Daphne.  “I understand that you may be feeling bitter toward those of us who chose to strike our own paths rather than stay the course of the good Pureblood scion, but do_ not _speak to Astoria that way.”_

_He felt Astoria’s small hand cover the fist he had pressed on the table.  He glanced at her; she silently asked him to calm down._

_Draco heard Daphne scoff and watched as she stood up from the table._

_“You’re both ridiculous,” she spat, and looked to Theo to join her.  When he didn’t, she swept out of the dining room alone._

_“I apologize for my wife’s atrocious behavior,” Theo said to Draco.  “She is—"_

_Draco held up a hand.  “No, Theo.  It’s not you who should be apologizing.”_

_He turned to Astoria, who gazed at him with worry.  He managed to put a smile on his face to ease her anxiety._

~xx~XX~xx~

_“Pregnant?” he asked hollowly._

_Astoria held her hands tightly on her lap as she sat on the bed across from him.  “I know it’s probably not something you want to hear.  Not after six months of dating, anyway.”_

_Draco gaped at her silently._

_“Listen, I’m going to have this baby,” she said decisively.  “If you don’t want anything to do with it, or us, that’s your decision.  I certainly don’t need you to stay out of obligation.”_

_She moved to get up from the bed, but he shot out his hand to stop her._

_“Astoria, wait,” he said, when he finally regained use of his voice.  “I’m just – I’m a bit shocked, but—”_

_Draco tackled her down on the bed and hovered over her.  She gazed up at him with an astonished look on her face._

_“We’re really having a baby?” he asked slowly, excitement coloring his tone._

_“Yes,” she whispered softly, her voice swelling with hope, and he leaned his head down to kiss her._

_His lips traveled down to her neck, and she said, breathlessly, “I really thought you would be more upset about this.”_

_He stopped his affectionate ministrations, and said, “Why would I be?  I mean, it’s a bit sooner than I planned, but we’ve talked about kids before.  You know that I want a big family.”_

_Draco suddenly got out of bed and threw open the doors of his armoire.  He started rummaging at the bottom of a pile of boxes, muttering, “I know I put grandmother’s ring in here, somewhere.”_

_“Wait, what?” Astoria screeched in surprise as she leapt to her feet.  “Why in Merlin’s name are you looking for your grandmother’s_ ring _?!”_

_“Oh, of course,” Draco said to himself, and he made his way over to her, and took her in his arms.  “Astoria.  Will you marry me?”_

_She looked at him as if he suddenly grew gills.  “Draco.  Malfoy.  I’m not marrying you just because I’m pregnant with your baby.”_

_She tried to pull away, but he remained steadfast.  “Then don’t marry me because you’re pregnant.  Marry me because you love me.  And because I love you.”_

_She hesitated, and he used the moment to kiss her tenderly.  “Please,” he murmured against her lips.  “Please marry me.”_

_“You’re just asking me this because of the baby,” she reasoned._

_“I’ve already thought about asking you,” he confessed.  “This is a bit sooner than I planned, but, that doesn’t change the fact that I want this happen.”_

_She gazed earnestly at him under her dark lashes.  “You really want to marry me?” she asked timidly._

_“Today,” he said, emphatically._

_“All right, slow down,” she said, laughing.  “I’ll marry you.  Not today.  Soon.”_

_“Soon,” he repeated with glee, and he captured her smile in another ardent kiss._

~xx~XX~xx~

_“What about Perseus?”  she asked._

_“We already know a Percy,” he reminded her.  “And, he’s my least favorite Weasley.”_

_“Oh?  Who’s your most favorite Weasley?”_

_“Molly,” he said.  “Obviously.  Any Weasley who can bake a chocolate cake like she can is all right in my book.”_

_They sat amongst the rosebushes in her garden overlooking the Greengrass Estate.  They had been debating baby names for the past hour, with each suggestion becoming more unlikely._

_“Maybe we should name the baby after someone we know.  Someone lovely and admirable,” she suggested, as she unconsciously rubbed the bump that was beginning to show on her abdomen._

_“Hmm.  I’m not sure I have any candidates.”_

_“Really?  You don’t know of anyone who is commendable, and kind-hearted, and someone who our child can model him or herself after?”_

_Draco snorted.  “We are_ not _naming our child after_ Harry _fucking_ Potter _.”_

_“So, you finally admit that you love and admire Harry?” Astoria said as she poked him in the rib.  “’Henry’ would work.  Maybe ‘Harriet’ for a girl?”_

_“Just because we see each other every day at work, and on most weekends playing Quidditch, doesn’t mean that I want to name my firstborn after him.  I just thought of him because you spewed out jargon that’s usually associated with The Great Git,” he said.  “’Commendable’ and ‘kind-hearted,’ but also someone in our circle?  That’s a tall order.  I take it we’re not naming any daughter after Daphne.”_

_“No.  As much as I love my sister, I do not want any daughter of mine to emulate her,” Astoria said, and her face took on a thoughtful expression.  “What about ‘Hermione?’”_

_“Granger?” he laughed.  “I wouldn’t wish her name on anyone.  Besides, ‘Hermione Malfoy’ is a terrible combination.”_

_“Her name is not bad.  It’s romantic.  Shakespearean.  Much better than any of these constellation names,” she said, and after a pause, “I’m sorry she couldn’t come to the wedding.  I would have liked to finally meet her.”_

_Draco shrugged.  “She’s busy with work.”_

_“What about the name ‘Pansy?’” she asked hopefully._

_He sighed.  “Dear Merlin.  I hope we have a son.”_

~xx~XX~xx~

_Draco paced in his study, running his hands through his disheveled hair.  He could no longer hear the screams – he was too far away, and the Manor was too large – but terror still gripped his chest._

_His hands kept demanding to reach for the door handle; his legs kept insisting that they run up the stairs to the suite; but his ears kept reminding him that she pleaded, between bouts of pain, “Please, go.  Stay in your study.  I’ll be fine.  We’ll be fine.”_

_The room was suddenly lit with green light, and he hurried over to kneel in front of the fireplace._

_“Draco, I just got your Owl,” Hermione said.  “What kind of emergency is going on?  I’m on assignment, and I’m not supposed to use the international Floo—"_

_“Granger,” he croaked.  He meant to say more, but the words stuck in the back of his throat._

_Hermione peered at him closely.  A determined look came over her face, and she said, resolutely, “Move over.  I’m coming through.”_

_He stood and stepped back to give her room.  A few seconds later, she was standing in front of him.  He hadn’t realized that he was trembling until she firmly gripped his arms above his elbows._

_“Draco?” she asked tentatively._

_He swallowed twice before he could say, “It’s Astoria.  She’s upstairs with healers.”_

_“The baby’s coming?  Already?  But Astoria’s only,” she paused, as if to calculate the date that Draco had mentioned in his last letter, “seven months along.”_

_“I don’t know what happened,” he said roughly.  “We were getting ready for bed, and, suddenly, she’s doubled over on the floor, in pain.  Bleeding.”_

_She gasped quietly.  “Why the hell isn’t she at St. Mungo’s?”_

_Draco shook his head.  “The healers said that it was too dangerous to transport her in her condition.  They’ve got a whole team upstairs working on her.”_

_As he recounted the events of the night, he felt the energy drain out of him.  He sat down in an armchair and hunched over, placing his head in his hands.  Hermione kneeled in front of him to maintain eye contact._

_“I want to be up there with her, but she kicked me out.  The healers kept complaining that I was getting in the way,” he said bitterly._

_Hermione rubbed the tops of his knees in comfort.  “I’m sure they’re doing the best they can to take care of her.”_

_He growled. “She was_ fine _, Granger.  We didn’t even do anything strenuous today.  We just stayed at Greengrass Estate because she wanted to work in her garden.  I don’t know how this could have fucking happened!”_

_She got up and made her way to the cabinet, taking out a glass and pouring in scotch.  She handed him the drink, which he blindly accepted, and he caught her hand, to say, “Stay with me?  Please.  I know you probably can’t, but I just – Please don’t leave me alone right now.  I can’t be in this room by myself.”_

_Hermione gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.  “Of course.”_

_She poured a drink for herself and sat down on the armchair across from him.  They sat together, silently sipping their drinks, the comforting sounds of the crackling fire permeating the room._

_Hermione glanced at the grandfather clock over his shoulder, which indicated that it was eleven-forty at night._

_“It’s Harry’s birthday today,” she gently mused._

_Realization dawned on Draco, and he thumped his glass down on the side table.  “Fuck,” he grumbled._

_In his stress-bent mind, the thought of his firstborn son sharing the same birthday as his former rival seemed fatefully absurd.  He started chuckling uncontrollably until tears streamed down his face._

_Hermione made her way to him and placed a light hand on his shoulder._

_When the laughter and tears subsided, he asked, “Do you think they’re going to be all right?”_

_“I don’t know,” she said softly.  “But I hope so.”_

_Draco put his hand on top of hers in response; even now, he appreciated her candidness._

_A loud crack made them look up.  Sarby faced them imploringly, and Draco jumped up from his seat._

_“Young master is now in the nursery,” the house elf said._

_“Astoria?” Draco asked quickly._

_“The healers are still with her, Master.  But Mistress asked that Master go see to the baby now,” said Sarby._

_Draco felt his body tense; even his diaphragm stopped working, his lungs starting to burn with disuse.  Hermione moved in front of him and took hold of his face._

_“Draco, breathe,” she ordered._

_He inhaled deeply, finding assurance in her eyes._

_“Do you need me to go with you?” she asked kindly._

_He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts.  He shook his head._

_After a few more cleansing breaths, she said, “All right?  Are you ready to meet your son?”_

_Draco looked into her face, and he siphoned composure and encouragement from her presence.  Finally, he nodded and stepped out of her hold._

_“Take me to the nursery, Sarby,” he said as he grabbed the house elf’s extended hand._

_As Draco was whisked away, he heard the rush of the Floo fire briefly roar to life._

~xx~XX~xx~

He looked up at the sound of footsteps on the marble floor.  Two women approached his spot near the end of the long corridor.

“Thank you for coming,” he said when they neared.  “Both of you.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” Pansy said, but without the usual venom in her voice.  She placed a bouquet of white roses on the flower sconce next to the words: “Astoria Malfoy.  30 Sept. 1981 – 1 Aug. 2005.  Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother.”

Draco felt a light hand on his shoulder and turned to give Hermione a grateful smile.

“How are you?” she asked him.

“As fine as I can be on a day like this,” he said carefully.

“Where’s Scorpius?”

“With Theo,” he said.  “Would you like to see him?  You can come with me when I pick him up later.”

Draco saw a hesitant look in her eyes, before she replied, “Best not.  I have to be back in the office soon.  I just wanted to come and pay my respects.  And make sure you’re all right.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Pansy held her hand up to trace Astoria’s name.  “Luna says ‘hi,’” she whispered.  Then, she seemed to remember the others with her, and she cleared her throat.  “Are you going to stay with her all day, Draco?”

“No,” he replied.  “I told Theo I would get Scorpius this morning.”

“You’re not going in to work?” Hermione asked.

He shook his head.  “I typically take the first of August off.  I usually bring Scorpius here to Greengrass Estate.  We have a picnic in the garden.”

Pansy gave him one of her rare genuine smiles.  “I’m sure she would have loved that.”

“Yes,” he said as he stared at the white roses next to the name carved on the stone.  “She would have.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews are much appreciated!  
> If you’re in the mood for more angst, please check out my one-shot Dramione fic, “The Gutter of Your Love.”


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